


Why you? Of all people?

by HalfAsianInvasion



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Liverpool, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfAsianInvasion/pseuds/HalfAsianInvasion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why do you have to make things so difficult for me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - "Stebie!"

This game was something I'd anticipated for a long time, ever since the idea was brought up in fact. I couldn't wait to play with my old teammates again. For most of them it would be their first time setting foot into Anfield in a long time, years even. I knew the fans were dead excited too. Especially because they wanted to see the Luis Suarez and Fernando Torres pairing, for a sense of what might've been had Fernando not left for Chelsea. I had my own selfish reasons for looking forward to this day. Of course, it was for a great cause, but the thought of one man in particular coming home was a silver lining on what had been a particularly dark season for Liverpool. It being made worse by the fact we'd missed out on the title in the previous season, and I'd spent many a time blaming myself for that infamous slip of mine. I was reminded of it any time the away fans would sing their parody of the Steven Gerrard song. I swelled with pride when they'd get drowned out by our own fans singing the proper version, but obviously that wasn't possible when we played away. There just weren't enough of them to make the required noise. It was quite ironic, hearing fans of teams like Chelsea sing the song. I just found it funny how they didn't sing to support their own team, but would happily sing to put an opposing player down. But I guess that's Chelsea, I can never escape the abuse from them.

Being in the changing room felt very different today. For one, I may have been at home in Anfield, but it wasn't a red shirt I was pulling on, but rather a black one. The atmosphere in the room felt different too. On a regular match day it would be buzzing with energy, everyone energised for the game ahead to try and earn those three points we all sought after. Today, the changing room was filled with hugs, pats on the backs, smiles and greetings all around. Many of the men in this room hadn't seen each other in a long time, or maybe hadn't ever met each other before. I was sure the same was happening in the away team dressing room, where Carra's team were. I was grateful that we were in here, I couldn't handle being in the away team room. It wouldn't feel right; it'd be quite unnerving really. That's probably how Carra and the other Liverpool lads, new and old, were feeling currently. 

I glanced over at Fernando Torres. He looked pretty nervous, lacing his boots. It was understandable really. Unlike many of the other ex Liverpool lads here today, he left us on pretty bad terms, especially with the fans. I don't think he would handle it well if they booed him. For players like Henry, Terry and Drogba it was to be expected, playing for Arsenal and Chelsea respectively. I'm sure they, too, were expecting nothing more, but it would all be in good heart. I can only hope the fans appreciate that they agreed to play for a good cause, even if it isn't their club. However, for Fernando it was. He was a Liverpool fan, and so to have fellow Liverpool fans boo him would surely be nothing short of heart breaking. 

Next, my eyes landed on Riise. Ginger. Seven years he was with us, 2001-2008. Over 200 appearances. He had many highs and many lows with the club, but he was no doubt Liverpool through and through. The fans loved him, and it was sad to see him go to Roma, but I know he's still a Liverpool fan. It's great what this city can do to people. Not many players are like me or Carra, playing in their hometown. Hell, forget Carra, the bluenosed shite. Me or Flanno then. Most players that come here aren't fans themselves. They didn't grow up supporting the team, watching their games week in, week out. When they played football in the streets, I'm sure they didn't visualise themselves to be John Barnes, like I very much did. But if they stay long enough, it may just be enough time for this beautiful city of ours to work it's magic, and they walk away Liverpool fans.

Another man this city cast it's spell on was the very man I was most looking forward to seeing again, for my own selfish reasons: Xabi Alonso. My eyes scanned the room until they ultimately found him. God, there he was. He was muttering something to Fernando. He must've noticed how nervous he was as well, and gone over to comfort him perhaps. It had definitely worked because Fernando looked a lot brighter. It reminded me of when I had heard that Xabi had spoken to Alberto Moreno before he came to Liverpool. I knew Alberto was hesitant to leave Sevilla, because he had a close connection with the club, but Xabi told him how spectacular Liverpool is and obviously gave him good enough advice that he eventually signed for us. It warmed my heart to think of that. 

I finally began to lace my boots. I was doing everything quite slowly today, drinking everything in. Ever since I announced my departure to LA Galaxy I wanted to take in every aspect of this place that I could, even if today wasn't a regular match day. When I leaned back up I saw Xabi walking in my direction. He caught my gaze from across the room and smiled that wonderful smile of his, his shining teeth encapsulated in that stupid ginger beard of his. I stood up, anticipating the oncoming hug.  
"Stevie!" He engulfed me into his embrace, as he exclaimed my name with that accent of his. That stupid accent that I spent hours thinking about, missing the way he pronounced it 'Stebie', because it was unique to him. His warm embrace felt all too familiar. The memories came flooding back all at once. Memories of wonderful goals, pulling each other into our arms in congratulation. God, I missed this. It felt like we'd been hugging for hours, yet when he released me it felt too soon. I felt cold where his arms had been, missing his touch already. 

When the idea of the match was presented to me, Xabi was the first name that came to mind when I was asked who I wanted for my team. When Carra and I were picking teams, he didn't even fight me on it, because he knew he wouldn't win. I would fight Carra to the death if it mean playing with Xabi again, even if it was for five minutes. Pep Guardiola wasn't too keen on us taking Xabi, wanting him for Bayern Munich. This meant I only had half an hour to play on the same team as him again. Only thirty minutes to drink in every little moment I could. I definitely was not going to waste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I posted the original first chapter to this story on 10th September last year, but I never came back to it because I wasn't happy with it. So I've completely rewritten the whole first chapter, so I'm happier with it now. Apologies to those who read it before and left Kudos. I mean, thanks a lot for leaving Kudos, that was really kind of you, and is what mainly got me to come back to this story. I haven't really changed where the basis of the story is going, but like I said when I originally posted the chapter, because I'm an unorganised mess there's a chance I may change things to fit where the story is going, but I will always make sure to let you know if I do. Hopefully, I will never have to rewrite an entire chapter again, like I have done with this one.  
> Thanks so much for reading, I really appreciate it a lot. I don't know how regularly I'll update because I'm flooded with schoolwork at the moment because of my upcoming exams, but I'll do my very best.


	2. Why are you wearing that to walk out of my life?

I knew. I knew even before the words left his mouth. Of course, as typical with any transfer window the media was all abuzz with rumours, and I didn’t usually pay them too much mind. I assumed that I would be told everything when it was official anyway, so I tried not to be concerned until I knew a transfer was official. With Xabi it was different. The first rumour I saw had me worried, because I knew he wasn’t happy. He and the gaffer didn’t have the best relationship, Rafa wanted Gareth Barry and so Xabi felt unwanted. My heart ached for him. I just wanted to scream at him.  
“I want you Xabi! I want you!” But I always held my tongue. Sometimes I look back and think that maybe if I’d fought for him more things could’ve been different.

“I’m leaving.”  
“Where?” I didn’t act surprised, I didn’t act sad. I tried to contain any emotion, because I knew if I let a tiny fraction slip, it would all flood out.  
“Real Madrid.” I couldn’t blame him, they were a top team, and Spain is his home country. But even with these rational thoughts in my mind it didn’t stop my mind going into overdrive. I was fuming inside, blood boiling. I wanted nothing more than to barge into Benitez’s office and smash everything up. I blew what felt like a whole lungful of air from my mouth and looked at Xabi. Taking everything in for what would be the last time for a long while, I was sure. He was a man known for his style and he was certainly showing it off today, not that I would really know. He was wearing some suit that was probably handmade from some fancy European designer that Alex would probably rave about. Not me; all I cared about was Xabi and how achingly good he looked in the suit. The suit fit him perfectly, showing off each great curve of his body and the muscles that came with playing football at a professional level. His white shirt was crisp clean, the sleeves just poking out from his blazer. His shoes were so shiny I could’ve seen my face in them. I wondered if he polished them himself or paid someone to do it for him. His hair was perfectly styled and that stupid ginger beard shaped his face perfectly. He was a different man to the twenty two year old that had arrived here five years ago. God, had it been that long? He had a dark pair of sunglasses on to shield himself from the non-existent Liverpool sun. Usually we would’ve had a bit of banter about them, but I definitely wasn’t in the mood for making jokes.  
Devastated was a massive understatement. Devastated was the word I’d told the media when they asked me. Devastated didn’t give how much pain I was in justice at all. I wanted to be sick, my stomach was churning. I had religiously followed all the tabloid rumours, minus The Sun obviously. I don’t know why I did that to myself. I don’t know why I didn’t message him to find out the truth. Most of all, I was pissed that I didn’t do more to make him stay. The best thing Rafa ever did for me was bringing Xabi Alonso into my life, and here he was ripping him from my clutches, and for only £30 million. God Xabi was worth ten times that. I would’ve happily have paid double that out of my own pocket if it meant keeping him.  
“Stevie,” Xabi broke me from my trance. I don’t know how long I’d been staring at him blankly, but he’d taken off the sunglasses by this point.  
“Yeah?” I answered, dumbly.  
“Do you have anything to say?” He looked at me expectantly. I don’t know what it was he was expecting from me though. My mind was filled with anger and hurt, and I didn’t want to project that onto Xabi.  
“When do you leave?” He reacted oddly to this question. I assume it was because he probably expected me to say more. Hell, I expected myself to say more, but I couldn’t find the words, no matter how desperately I searched for them.  
“In a few hours.” I was shocked at this. A few hours?! That’s all I had left?! He’s only telling me now! Is that how insignificant I am to him? My chest felt tight, and I desperately tried to swallow the lump that seemed to be forming in my throat. I couldn’t say anything, so I gave him an awkward nod and coughed into my hand. He broke my eye contact briefly to put the sunglasses I hadn’t realised he was holding into his blazer pocket. When he looked back up it seemed as if he was struggling to meet my eyes again. The absolute desperation pouring out of my eyes probably didn’t make it easier for him. When he finally did meet my eyes again, he breathed out a heavy sigh and pulled me in for a hug. I’ll never forget that hug. In that moment everything seemed alright. He was so warm and cosy, and just felt safe. His fancy aftershave seemed to seep into every pore on my body, and I could still smell it for hours afterwards. His arms wrapped around me, and held me tight, and I automatically mirrored his arms. I pulled him as tightly into me as I could, never wanting to let go for fear of never having a moment like that again and that he may have seen how hard it was for me to hold back my tears; only for me to let them out a few hours later on the side of the road somewhere in my car.  
“Good luck Xabs, we’ll miss you.” I finally managed to squeeze out some words after we pulled apart. He gave me a sad smile which caused a pang of guilt to submerge in my stomach. “Really Xabs. We will, especially the fans.” They loved him to bits, which was made evident when many of them displayed their unhappiness at his departure, and god how badly I wanted to join them.  
“Thanks Stevie.” God, if only I’d known how much I’d miss the way he said my name. He patted my shoulder and began to walk away. I watched him go, stuck on the spot where I was stood, as if some cruel force didn’t want me to go after him.  
“Don’t be a stranger!” I called out after him. He turned and waved in answer and he reached into his pocket and placed those stupid sunglasses back on. ‘God Xabs, why are you wearing that to walk out of my life? Doesn’t he realise how hard he makes it for me?’ 

Looking back I always kick myself for not saying more. Sometimes I feel as if I should’ve just got down on my knees and begged him to stay. It would’ve been worth it, humiliating myself, if it made him stay. I should’ve grabbed onto his legs and held on so he couldn’t just walk away like that. 2012. That’s how long he should’ve stayed until. I should’ve done more, not just as captain, but also as his friend, to have kept him until then. Most of all, I was pissed at myself for not being brave enough to tell him I loved him. I’d spent many a night thinking about how I would do it, scripting the many ways in which he could’ve reacted. But as soon as I saw him in that suit, and those stupid sunglasses, any ounce of confidence I’d built up had crumbled away. I guess I should be grateful for that. It wouldn't have been fair to him, or the girls. So all I could do was watch him leave, and then cry on my own on some stupid roadside away from watching eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, and especially to those who left Kudos, it really means a lot to me. I'm going to just warn now that I won't have an organised schedule for when this story will be updated, especially because I've got exams starting on Thursday too. I meant to be revising right now really, but I guess I've succumbed to procrastination. Anyway, thanks a lot again, I really appreciate it :)


	3. My God, this reminds me of when we were young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I got the line for the chapter title from the song When We Were Young by Adele because both that and Hello make me think of Xabi and Steven.)

As I walked out of the dugout onto the pitch, with the girls and my nephews in tow, I was hit by the tremendous noise produced by the thousands of fans in the stands. It felt a little odd sometimes when I thought back to the few times that I was one of them; one of the many Liverpool-mad fans creating the buzz of noise around Anfield. And now here I am; one of the players that said buzz is created for. Due to the level of noise, it felt very much like walking out the dugout on a cup final day, yet this time around the entire stadium was collaborating to produce one level of sound, rather than two sides competing to drown the other out.

We walked out separately, rather than as two long lines, due to the fact many of us had our children with us so had to collect all of them together. As I stood on the pitch in the line, I stole a glance in Xabi’s direction. He was alone. He’d left his wife and kids in Germany. I wasn’t too sure why, perhaps he felt his youngest daughter was too young to bring on a plane. I never found an appropriate reason to ask either. As I gathered my clan closer to me for pictures, I took note of the reception each player was getting. Of course, there were some playful boos for the likes of Terry, Drogba and Henry; but what do you expect, really? After me it seemed that Xabi got the best response from the fans. The city of Liverpool really did love Xabi Alonso, maybe just as much as I did. Even before kick-off, as Didier Drogba and Mario Balotelli were hovering over the ball, the fans were chanting his name. A smile broke out onto his face as he applauded them to show his appreciation.

By the time the whistle blew I was buzzing to get the game underway. It had been years since Xabi and I had even shared the same pitch together. I remember how irked he was when he found out Liverpool and Real Madrid were placed in the same Champions’ League group the same season he’d transferred to Bayern Munich, he was desperate to play at Anfield again, and I knew he was grateful for being asked to come play today. Passing the ball between the two of us felt so familiar; the way the ball seemed to perfectly glide to my feet under his command. I remember thinking: My God, this reminds me of when we were young. He could put in a good forty yard pass and you wouldn’t even have to move to receive it, he was that good. From the fans’ reception you could tell they missed our Midfield Maestro just as much as I did.

I made sure to place as many long crosses into the box as I could. I was desperate to show off, to impress Xabi. I don’t know why. Maybe that’s what I played some of my best days whilst he played for Liverpool. I had this constant need to show off in front of him, like some little kid trying to get attention off someone they fancy. Maybe it was stupid, but I had this urge to gain some kind of validation from Xabi. 

Balotelli scored in the ninth minute. It was a class strike from twenty yards out. I didn’t even have to look at him to see the shit-eating grin that was definitely showing on Carra’s face. Jammy bugger. Xabi took a shot from just outside the penalty box three minutes later. It was blocked by Harry Kewell. I was surprised he was actually fit to play, but there he was. Xabi’s grin was evident as he moved away for the corner. God, that smile framed by that stupid ginger beard. I hated it.

We got a free kick in the fourteenth minute, which Xabi lined up to take. I positioned myself in the penalty box, thinking of the free kick Xabi had scored for Bayern recently against Porto. It was a Xabi Special, beautifully controlled and curled over the wall and into the back of the net. I was hoping he could produce something similar today, not just for my selfish reasons of wanting an excuse to envelope him into a hug. 

The ball came to me, but went too deep. As the commentators described, which I later found out, “he was looking for Gerrard”. That warmed my heart and made my stomach do flips. Jesus, I’d missed playing with Alonso.

We got another free kick in the late eighteenth minute. Both Xabi and I prepared to take it, but Ginger took it in the end, with that hammer of a left foot of his. He smashed it under the wall, also like a fantastic free kick Xabi had scored for Bayern against Werder Bremen in the Bundesliga, but Riise struck it straight at Reina.

Drogba scored in the late twenty-second minute from a great ball from Balotelli. I had a good chance in the twenty-fifth minute but it was blocked by, of course, Jamie Carragher. Maybe I was a bit glad it was his head he took it on, and maybe I had a little chuckle to myself when he wobbled a bit afterwards. I was slightly annoyed he’d robbed me of my chance to celebrate one last goal with Xabi, but the light-hearted nature of the game allowed me to remain in high spirits despite this. 

It didn’t stop my stomach dropping in the thirty-first minute when he was subbed off for Joao Teixeira however. I watched him running off, whilst the stadium bellowed out his name over and over. I watched him applauding the fans again and hi-five Alberto Moreno who was coming on for Flanno. This made me laugh to myself, thinking back to that picture I’d seen online that said Moreno looked like our lovechild. A consequence of Istanbul you might say, despite Moreno being already twelve years old back then. Xabi’s exit from the game left me temporarily solemn and questioning the rules of football, wondering if it was somehow possible to bring someone back onto the pitch once they’d already been subbed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and to all those that have left Kudos. I'd like to apologise to you for how long it's taken me to update. I'd had the first chapter written for a while and once I got the second chapter written I was too excited to post it, despite being in the middle of exams. It's been because of my exams and me being on holiday that I've taken so long to update, so I'm sorry about that. I also wanted to rewatch the Charity Match to get the facts and stuff accurate so I had to find time for that too. Anyway, thanks again for reading, I really appreciate it.  
> Also, if any of you are on Tumblr, you can find me at itshalfasianinvasion. Feel free to give me a shout if you want :)


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